Mighty Ducks 1. Wrong From the Start

Disclaimer: Don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me

Summary: Charlie and Adam are toughing it out at University of Michigan, playing Division 1 hockey and trying to handle the pressure. Sooner or later, someone's nerve has to give…

Warnings: cutting, abuse (later chapters)

DON'T LET IT HURT

He couldn't believe this was happening. Couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. No no no…but the pain in his wrist was all too familiar and all too real. Sharp, searing, throbbing, the cry threatening to tear from his throat. Tears stung the backs of his eyelids and he had to fight them down, push them back, because he had to hold something back from the crowd, from his teammates. Pain was irrelevant at this level. Division I hockey didn't care if your wrist was sprained, or broken even. As long as you could skate, you played.

It was late when Charlie Conway heard the door to the dorm open and close quietly. In the darkness, he could just make out Adam Banks' tall form making its way across the room to his bed. Something was wrong. Charlie couldn't put his finger on it, but something was wrong. 

"Adam?" He turned over on his side, facing the room.

"Didn't mean to wake you up," came the reply.

"Why're you so late?" 

"I…had some things to do at the arena."

"Like what?"

"Stuff." Charlie bellowed out a sigh and reached up to turn on the reading light above his head. The warm light bathed the room in a soft glow, and the first thing he saw was his best friend hastily wiping tears from his face.

"Adam, what's wrong?" He threw back the covers and got up.

"Nothing," Adam replied as Charlie approached him, "I'm fine." Charlie rolled his eyes.

"That's why your eyes are red and—" He cut himself off, seeing the bandage wrapped around Adam's wrist, "What happened?" Adam leaned his head back and gazed at the ceiling.

"That check I took in the second period. It jammed my wrist the wrong way," he answered. When Charlie gently grasped his forearm and undid the bandage, Adam didn't protest. It'd always been like this, he reflected, from peewees to high school. Charlie was the captain, the leader, who always looked out for everyone, and particularly, it seemed, Adam. Their friendship had gone through difficult times, but in the end, Charlie could never stand to wound Adam any further, and Adam couldn't forget the caring Charlie always seemed to have for him.

"Ah…" Adam's face twisted in a grimace as Charlie gently bent his wrist downward.

"You should see a doctor," Charlie said, rewrapping the bandage with care.

"What's the point? They'll just tell me I have to sit, which you know I can't do," Adam replied.

"Adam, if you play with that injury—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm risking my career. We've been through this before."

"Adam, I'm serious."

"So am I."


	2. Never Lasts

They were best friends. The two phenoms from Minnesota, the one-two punch up front on the counterattack. Tall, slightly lanky, blonde and brown, blue and gray. Adam wished he could say that he and Charlie had a lot of things in common, but they didn't. Adam had grown up in Edina, with a lot of money. Charlie had grown up in downtown Minneapolis with a single mother. Adam was quiet, calm, and serious, while Charlie was gregarious, talkative, and quick with words. It went without saying that while Charlie could pick up a handful of girls at any given party on any given night, Adam desired only a friend who could listen and understand.

He hated his past. He hated Edina. The materialism, the excessive wealth, the endless one-ups-manship. Sure, he always had enough money for clothes, a new car, hockey gear, but he had nothing else. No character, no streetwise accent, no wild streak. 

He and Charlie were drifting. He hated to admit it, but it was true. Their rocky years at Eden Hall had taken their toll. While they were still friends, best friends even, that element of total trust and faith was gone. Adam had not talked seriously with Charlie about anything in a long time. The most serious they got was hockey, and injuries and such. They never talked about family life, personal feelings or anything like that. Granted, college-age men didn't generally talk about that kind of stuff, but when they were younger, they'd often been able to talk about things without feeling ashamed. Like Adam's father's desire to live vicariously through his sons, or Charlie's mother's constant search for a new husband/father.

But things had changed. While Adam had gotten a hockey scholarship to Michigan, Charlie had had to fight his way onto the team as a walk-on. On top of that, he was working his butt off during his free time just so he could pay for college. He was getting some financial aid, but Michigan was a big school, and Charlie knew he was nothing special. Good at hockey, sure, but not great. Good in classes, but not great. Never great. Adam sometimes wondered if Charlie resented him for being on scholarship and being a straight-A student. If he could have, Adam would have given it all up just for friendship and camaraderie, which, sufficed to say, he'd not experienced much in his life. Charlie was a good friend, his best friend, but Adam was a loner, afraid to let anyone in because he might get hurt. He wanted to talk to someone about his life, about the pressures, about the frustration, but he didn't trust anyone to keep his secrets, to take him seriously. To listen.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and Adam had just finished his last class for the week. He was wandering aimlessly around campus, alone, feeling a little down, knowing that Charlie was probably off at a party with some girl, and his teammates were more than likely doing the same.

"Heads up!" Adam was jerked out of his thoughts by a soccer ball traveling at great speed right towards his face. It hit him as he tried to duck, and the resulting sting was intense. 

"Orale, Memo! Watch where you're kicking!" A young Asian woman approached him, wearing an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that," she offered, flicking the ball up onto her foot and then into her hands. Adam tried to smile around the pain in the left side of his face. 

"Yeah…Memo's got a shot," she commented, "Here, let me see." She reached up and turned Adam's face to the side so she could get a good look at his face. 

"Dang, he really got you, too. You want to come over and get some ice for that? I think we've got some on the sidelines," she said, motioning back toward the field where she'd come from. Adam glanced over and saw a group of Hispanics and Asians playing soccer.

"Uh…sure…if it's not too much trouble,' he replied. His face really did hurt. The woman motioned for him to follow and he fell into step behind her.

"You're the hockey player, right? From Minnesota?" she asked as they walked. Adam nodded.

"That's cool. Edina, right?" she asked with a grin. Again, he nodded.

"Ahh, you cake-eater." For some reason, Adam felt a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" he responded, drawing even with her. 

"St. Louis Park, baby. All the way," she exclaimed.

"You went to Park?"

"Hell yeah."

"What year did you graduate?"

"'99. I remember watching you play for Eden Hall in high school. Damn, but Edina was ticked that you went there and not to the city high school." They reached the field and the woman grabbed a bag of ice from a cooler.

"Here." She reached up and put a small towel against his face, then pressed the ice against it.

"Just hold it there for awhile." Adam nodded.

"What's your name?" he asked, realizing she'd never told him.

"Oh, I'm Jade. Jade Hutchinson," she replied, holding out her hand. Adam shook it.

"Adam," he replied. He bet that she already knew his name. Jade smiled a greeting and Adam found himself noticing how at ease he felt around her, like he'd known her for years. In the silence that followed, she turned to the field, where the game was on at full speed.

"Afuera, afuera! Quitate tus ojos, Tomás!" she yelled. One of the guys on the field yelled something back and she laughed.

"Ya tengo…" Adam didn't catch the rest. He'd only taken a few years of Spanish, and it was obvious Jade had taken many. Turning back to him, Jade motioned for him to take the ice off.

"Let's see," she said. Her touch was gentle against his skin, and he found himself easing into it.

"It's not bad," she said, dropping her hand to her side, "But you'll probably have some bruising." Adam nodded, thanked her and headed for his dorm.

"See you," she called after him. He glanced over his shoulder and offered a faint smile. It was the first real smile he'd had in weeks.

It took about two seconds for his good mood to disappear when he got back to his dorm. Charlie was out with friends, he had hockey practice that evening, and worst of all, there was a message on the answering machine from his father. It was just another thinly veiled demand for perfection and precision. "You're a D1 player, now, and you have to play like it. Your game yesterday was mediocre at best, and I'm sure you know that. You—" Adam deleted the message in disgust. Of course his game was mediocre. After that check, he could barely hold a stick. He lay down on his bed, any sort of happiness dissipating at record speed. His wrist ached and throbbed continuously, as if reminding him how painful practice would be. His mind was running with self-deprecating thoughts, and he wanted to stop them, but how could he, when it was all true?


	3. Tough

Practice was agony, and Charlie could see it on his friend's face as they skated off the ice. His face was tight with concentration, his lips occasionally curling inward, his eyes slightly watery with tears. His left hand held his right arm close to his body, and his shoulders were hunched slightly. 

"Adam." Charlie fell into step at his friend's side. "You okay?"

"Yeah…yeah, I'm just fine," Adam replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He wouldn't raise his eyes to meet Charlie's.

It took all of Adam's willpower not to cry out in pain. Every motion, every movement, every touch sent waves of sharp pain tearing through his wrist and forearm. He slipped off his gear as best he could, trying to hold his wrist immobile. He could feel Charlie's eyes on him, and he knew they would have words once they got back to the dorm. But all he could think about right now was the pain. It blinded him, overtook him, and ultimately, Adam knew it would defeat him.

The walk back to the dorm was silent. Adam held his wrist close to him, wishing there was some way to ease the pain. Charlie walked beside him, torn between anger and concern. He was angry that Adam wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't heed to his advice. But his concern was outweighing that anger. He couldn't be angry, not when his best friend was in so much pain.

"Let's get some ice on that," he said as they let themselves into their dorm. Adam nodded wordlessly. Charlie motioned for him to sit down while he got the ice from the freezer.

"I won't lie, Adam. I'm ticked off that you're doing this to yourself," he said, grabbing a T-shirt from the dresser and laying it gently across Adam's arm.

"I know you are." His friend winced as the ice pack pressed against his wrist.

"Do you want to end your career? Is that what you want?" Charlie asked, his self-control wavering slightly.

"Sometimes I do, Charlie," Adam replied.

"Why?" Adam found his patience wearing thin. The pain was getting to him, and he didn't feel like another lecture about how he was jeopardizing his career.

"Damn it, Charlie, you think I've got it all made, huh? You think because I got a full ride and all it's just fine for me, huh? Well let me tell you something:" Adam winced briefly as another wave of pain coursed through his wrist, "It's not all fun and games. You know as well as me what D1 hockey is like, and you know full well how my dad is. Sometimes I don't even feel like I'm playing for myself, just for him. So yeah, I wouldn't mind ending my career." Charlie couldn't quite find any words to deny what his friend had just said. 

"You got to work for it, Conway. Maybe it was hell, but you got to work for your spot on the team totally on your own." Adam's voice had shifted from anger to sadness, and Charlie felt his own anger melting away. The anger was all a façade, he realized that now. Adam wasn't angry at him, wasn't upset with him. He was sad and frustrated and powerless. Even as a college student, he was still his father's puppet. He loved hockey, and he wasn't going to quit just because of his dad. But to play was to voluntarily subject himself to the verbal abuse, to the endless insults and deprecation.

Later that evening, Adam found himself sitting outside their dorm, not really wanting to talk to Charlie anymore. He had a book in front of him, but he wasn't reading it. He was just staring at the page, feeling numb inside while the aching in his wrist was almost becoming bearable. He'd dropped by the trainer to have it wrapped, and she'd scolded him for not coming in sooner. Her first inclination had been to tell the coaches, but Adam had begged her not to. He knew his body; he knew when he couldn't play. At least he hoped he did. He had plenty of reason to doubt himself and plenty of instances to back it up with, but he didn't want to have this debate. More to the point, he didn't have a choice. He was here on scholarship, and the last thing he needed was to get red-shirted.

"Hey, I didn't know this was your dorm." He looked up and saw Jade standing next to him. She offered a tentative smile, which he returned a little reluctantly.

"You want to be alone?" she asked. Adam shrugged, not wanting to drive her off, but not really wanting the company either.

"Just tell me. I don't want to intrude," she continued, "I won't be offended. Honest." Adam half-smiled in her direction.

"I guess I'd rather be alone. I just kind of need someone to talk to." Something flickered in her eyes, and she motioned to the space next to him.

"Mind if I sit?" 

"Not at all." She slid down next to him and he found himself drawing comfort from her presence.

"I bet I can guess part of what's bothering you," she said after a moment. 

"What's that?" 

"This." She grasped his bandaged wrist and lifted it gently from his knee.

"Good call." 

"Hockey injury?"

"Yeah. Just a check into the boards."

"Go to the trainer?"

"Yeah."

"She's cool, isn't she? Doesn't tell the coaches unless you let her." Adam nodded. He was damn lucky the trainer was sensitive to athletes' obligations to their teams.

"Well, I'd tell you to go to a doctor, but I'm betting you won't, because _they'll_ tell the coaches to bench you," she said after releasing his wrist. Adam nodded, a little surprised by her assumption.

"How did you—"

"Did the same thing in high school soccer, only it was a back injury." She said this without a hint of trying to one-up his own injury, and with total simplicity. No playing it up or glorifying it.

"High school soccer, huh?" he asked, trying to change the direction of this conversation.

"Yeah, what about it?" she challenged.

"Well, as I recall it, Edina beat you guys 6-1 and 5-0," he replied.

"Shut up. You can't claim victory. You didn't even go to Edina."

"Hey, who was calling me cake-eater out on the soccer field?" Adam was thoroughly enjoying this. The rivalry between St. Louis Park and Edina was long-standing, and he knew athletics were a sore spot for Park. Edina was one of the larger schools in the conference; St. Louis Park was the smallest. By over a thousand students. It was only in the past year that Park had begun to compete seriously in some sports, hockey and soccer in particular.

"The papers called you a cake-eater when you were on the Ducks. I was just going on what I knew," she replied, "Everyone knew you as that." Short pause.

"And you're from Edina. And I'm from St. Louis Park. I'm obligated."

"Obligated," Adam snorted, "You said it yourself: I didn't go to Edina."

"Yaah, we're going in circles, kid. Give it a rest. Besides, now that I'm sitting next to the famed Adam Banks in the dorm hallway, I figure you're obligated to tell me a little more about yourself." She grinned at him, but there wasn't anything particularly flirtatious about it.

"Like what?"

"Like…what you're studying, why you chose Michigan over the U…" She trailed off and waved a hand around, as if to say, etc., etc.

"Well, I don't know what I'm studying yet. Maybe psychology. And…I chose Michigan because they gave me a full ride," he answered.

"Oh yeah…I remember. The U was already loaded with big-time players, so they only offered you a partial scholarship. That was big news," she said. 

"What, you keep up with hockey news?"

"Nah, sports news in general. I used to hate hockey until we beat you guys my senior year," she replied with another grin, "Yeah, admit it. We were better than you that year. Admit it." Adam shook his head.

"I was not involved." She laughed.

"Bet you were glad you were at Eden Hall that night. Wouldn't have wanted to get beaten by a bunch of kids from the ghetto." That sent both of them into stitches. St. Louis Park was by no means a "ghetto" school, but it had far more color than any other school in the conference, and it was known affectionately by many as the "ghetto" school of the Classic Lake. 

They laughed for awhile and traded a few more half-hearted, but good-natured, insults, before settling down again.

"So what else is on your mind?" Jade leaned back against the wall.

"My dad's getting on my case, which sounds pretty mundane, but he gets pretty crazy when it comes to hockey. He flipped because I didn't play well in our opener," Adam explained, "And of course he doesn't even know about this." He motioned to his wrist.

"Oh yeah. I remember reading about him in the papers a few times," Jade replied, "Seems to me like he's trying to live through you and your brothers, since he can't live his own dream." Adam was surprised by her apparent perceptiveness, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable, totally unprotected. It was like she could see anything and everything she wanted. He unconsciously pulled his arms closer around his body.

"I'm sorry. Maybe…I shouldn't be the one you talk to," Jade said, seeing his arms tighten around his body, "I don't even know you that well." She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, Adam. And if you want to talk some more, I'm down in 418." 

It was late when Charlie heard Adam come back into the dorm. He didn't say anything, just turned over and faced the wall. His friend's words were still fresh in his mind.

__

You got to work for it. Yeah, he got to work for it. He got to work like mad during high school to turn the scouts' heads. He got to work his ass off during tryouts, to try and prove that he was better than the rest of the walk-ons. He got to sit anxiously outside the locker room, waiting for the list to be posted, and then frantically searching the list when it was finally posted for his name. 

Adam was right. Charlie had always thought that his friend had almost everything going for him. Money, brains, and mad hockey skills. It'd only been recently that Adam had started to let hints drop about his father and the pressure he placed on his son. And with the messages that were starting to appear more and more frequently on their answering machine, it was hard for Charlie not to figure it out.

He admitted fully to being jealous. During the early days, it'd always been an effort for Charlie not to feel resentful of Adam and his economic status. While Charlie was looking for a job when he was 14, Adam was still out fooling around with his friends. While Charlie had to scrape together every little bit of his earnings to buy an old Honda Accord, Adam had received a brand new Volvo 850 for his 16th birthday. And when the going got rough at Eden Hall…Charlie bit down on his lip. He'd been so quick to drop his friend, to group him along with those other rich kids. He'd been so quick to forget all the times Adam had gone with them into the heart of downtown Minneapolis for some games of street hockey. He'd been so quick to let all the resentment come to the surface.

College had quickly taken care of almost all the animosity between them. They were freshmen at a huge university, scared out of their wits. They were the only freshmen on the varsity squad, and Charlie remembered that Adam had been so relieved when he made varsity. He had been dreading having to play on varsity alone. They shared a dorm, shared several seminars, and shared common interests. They also kept each other sane, which, Charlie thought with a smile, was hardly an easy task. Adam was the studious one, always studying in his free time or reading extra on topics he'd studied in class. Charlie was the one who reveled in their newfound freedom, going out to explore the city and staying out late on weekends. When Adam got too engrossed in his books and was cracking under the stress, Charlie would drag him out to a party or some sporting event. And when Charlie got too rowdy or tried to get out of homework, Adam would haul him back to the dorm and get him studying. 

There were similarities, though, too. Neither of them would give up an inch during hockey practice. They went all out, 100%, and in games, they pushed even harder, demanding everything possible from their bodies. Both of them wanted to be better, wanted to be the best. That, Charlie reflected, was probably what had driven the wedge between them originally. They had different styles, but in the end, they had the same goal in mind. To be the best. And there was only room for one on most teams. Adam had done it purely by skill, scoring goal after goal and constantly improving his abilities. Charlie had done it through leadership, earning respect for his gritty attitude and intensity on the ice. At one point in time, it had driven them apart. But now it had pushed them together. Now they were just two freshmen trying to make names for themselves on the collegiate stage. Everyone at this level was insanely good, and Charlie had realized quickly that he and Adam were no longer shooting for the top. They were shooting for a spot on the team. That had probably gotten rid of most of their differences almost immediately.

Things would work out, Charlie assured himself, things would eventually fall into place.

The second game of the hockey season was even worse than the first for Adam. He was taking all sorts of checks from the Minnesota players; they knew he was a Minnesotan, and a damn good player, and they weren't going to show him any mercy. Time after time, he hit the boards, then the ice, and every time, he forced himself back to his feet, pushing doggedly on, the pain in his wrist at times so overwhelming that he could barely keep his eyes in focus. 

Halftime came and went in a haze of color, sound, and pain. Adam's wrist was badly swollen and painful, despite the repeated icing and taping he'd gotten from the trainer before and during the game, and his concentration was wandering. Somehow, he managed to keep himself in the game, but the checks were getting harder and harder to endure. One of these times, he was going to hit the ice and not be able to get up. Sweat stung his eyes, and his hair was clinging to his face and neck. Not only the physical exertion, but the mental exertion of blocking out the pain as well, were taking more energy out of him than he thought possible. 

When the final whistle blew, it barely registered with Adam that they had lost 2-1. His legs were on the verge of giving out from under him, and he could barely skate off the ice. Somewhere along the line, he found Charlie walking next to him, supporting him and guiding him through the crowds of players, media and game officials towards the locker room.

Charlie didn't say a word until after they were safely in their dorm. And when Adam was expecting a reprimand, all he got was a plea for time off from hockey. Charlie's eyes and voice were concerned, not angry, and that made it that much harder for Adam to refuse. Charlie was worried about him, wanted to help him. How could he refuse that? 

"I'll be okay," he said in a voice that was not his own. It was like he was on auto-pilot. It was what he'd been trained to say. Charlie shook his head, but didn't say anything more. He had pushed as far as he was going to go. Adam was an adult. He could take care of himself. Or so Charlie hoped. As he was pushing back the covers on his bed, he became aware of a knocking on the door. Adam got up to answer it, and seconds later, stepped back. A young Asian woman entered, and Charlie stood up to greet her.

"Hi, I'm Charlie. I'm Adam's roommate."

"Good to meet you. I'm Jade. I'm right down the hall in 418." They shook hands, and Charlie immediately picked up on Jade's confidence, both in her firm handshake, and the way she was carrying herself.

"How do you know Adam?" he asked, since it was obvious she and Adam had already been introduced. Jade blushed a little.

"Uh, well…one of my friends kicked the soccer ball over the net and it hit Adam in the face," she replied with a sheepish grin. Adam turned his head slightly and indicated the faint bruise on his cheek. Charlie laughed a little.

"Whatever works, huh?"

"Yeah, just about," Jade replied. 

"So what brings you to our humble abode?" Adam asked. Charlie noted the definite change in his friend's attitude around Jade.

"Well, I know you guys are tired out from your game, but a group of us are having pizza and playing games and I was just wondering if you wanted to join us." She said it so casually, Adam and Charlie both noted. There was no innuendo, no suggestiveness. She was just asking them to come hang out, something fairly uncommon at Michigan, or at any big school for that matter. Girls tended to be more flirtatious, or at least more forward. Neither young man detected any sort of suggestion from Jade's invitation.

"Well, you coming?" she asked, "'Cause the pizza's gonna be gone real fast." 

Later that evening, when most people had cleared out, Adam found himself sitting on the couch facing Jade, who was sprawled out on the other sofa. They'd made small talk most of the evening, but gradually, they were approaching more serious subjects, subjects that Adam was reluctant to discuss with Jade because of her apparent ability to perceive that which was left unsaid.

"Ten to one when I go back to my dorm there'll be another scathing message from my dad," he said. Jade gazed at him for a moment.

"Why do you care so much what your dad thinks?" She managed to say it without sounding harsh or critical.

"Well…it's hard to explain." Adam almost laughed at himself. No, it wasn't hard to explain at all. He just didn't want to.

"You don't have to answer, you know. Let me know if I'm prying," Jade said, sensing his discomfort.

"It's just…I can't have hockey without having my dad in there somewhere too," he explained after a moment.

"Well, then don't listen to him," she stated with a shrug, "It's that simple."

"Yeah…I don't anymore. But when I was a kid…it was hard not to." The things he left unsaid in that short statement seemed to spark something in Jade, who sat forward then, her attention focused entirely on Adam.

"Did he hit you?" Pure and simple. Straight up, she just wanted to know. Adam looked down at his hands, remembering the ringing in his ears, the stinging pain in his cheeks.

"Yeah…a few times. Not many, though." Jade nodded slowly, and in her eyes, Adam was sure he saw not just sympathy but empathy. Was it possible, he thought, that she too had gone through difficult times? There was a long silence, filled only by the low murmur of voices in the other room.

"So you and Charlie," Jade finally said, steering the conversation away from such a difficult subject, "Opposites attract, huh?"

"Well, I hate to say it, but you don't really know us," Adam replied. Jade smiled.

"I know, I know. I'm just basing it on what I observed. You're pretty quiet and reserved, Charlie's gregarious and outgoing," she said. 

"Yeah…we're pretty good friends." It came out wrong, the way he said it, and Jade had picked up on the bitterness in his voice before he could retract it.

"Got a lot of things on your mind, don't you?" she asked. Adam nodded. She sat back and observed him for a moment, and Adam felt a little like he was under scrutiny, although he was pretty sure she wouldn't do that to him.

"Everyone sees you as the strong, silent type, don't they?" she asked, "They figure you just bottle up emotions and keep them hidden." Again, Adam felt as if this conversation was turning against him, felt as if he was being exposed, being made vulnerable and he was powerless to stop it. Jade blushed a little and bit down on her lower lip.

"I'm sorry. I'm too direct sometimes, I know." Everything she had said was true, but Adam just didn't know how to open himself up like this, to let someone see inside, to allow the wounds to show. It was true: he was the strong, silent type, who never showed emotion, but it was just because he never believed anyone really cared. Charlie was the closest anyone had ever come to really caring about his emotional well-being, but Adam knew as well as the next person that male interaction generally did not involve talk about emotions. 

"Hey Banks. Ready to go?" Charlie came into the room, and Jade saw Adam subtly slip on the proverbial mask.

"Yeah." Adam stood up and turned to Jade.

"Thanks for inviting us," he said.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you," Charlie added with a smile. Jade stood up and saw them to the door.

"No problem guys. Catch you later."


	4. Losing Control

Sure enough, there was another message waiting on the machine when Adam walked into the dorm. 

"Your dad," Charlie stated. Adam nodded. He contemplated just deleting the message, but on the off chance that someone else had called and had something important to say, deleting without hearing was probably not the best idea. He pushed the play button, and almost immediately, his father's voice, yelling just as he had when Adam was a kid, came through the speaker.

"I cannot believe what I just saw, Adam. I have never seen such a terrible game in my life. I sure hope the coaches gave you hell to pay for that one. You looked like a damn kid out there. I have never been so embarrassed. It's a damn good thing I had a hand in your scholarship, boy, or you'd have lost it tonight. I'm absolutely ashamed, Adam, absolutely ashamed." The message ended and Adam stood there for a long moment, feeling as though he'd been slapped hard in the face. The messages were always hard to take, but this one had been particularly personal. The tears came before he could stop them and he pushed himself forcefully away from the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to stop himself from crying. 

"Adam?" Charlie's voice was gentle, but Adam didn't want to hear it.

"Leave me alone," he said, his voice grating and harsh. Charlie opened his mouth to say something more, but then decided against it. He watched in silence as Adam got into bed and turned his back to the room. He wanted to say something to ease the blow, something to relieve the pressure, but he couldn't think of anything, and he didn't think Adam would want to hear it anyway.

Adam lay in bed for a long time, listening and waiting. When he was sure Charlie was asleep, he got up and went to his dresser. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do such a thing, but when he found what he was looking for, he found himself sighing with relief. He climbed back into bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, and turned back towards the wall. In the dim light that came from the streetlamps outside, he flicked open the largest blade and looked at it for a long time. The rational part of his brain was screaming at him to put it away before he did something stupid, but the emotional part of his brain led his eyes to the pale flesh of his left—uninjured—wrist. For just a little while, he wanted to tell that rational side to shut up, just shut up and let him go. His eyes were dry now, there were no tears on the outside, but on the inside, he was crying nonstop. It just never seemed to end.

The first cut didn't hurt nearly as badly as he thought it would. Just a simple one, straight down, following the veins. He watched in fascination as the dark, red blood—his blood—seeped through the cut and overflowed onto his pale skin. The second cut he didn't even feel because it was as if his arm had gone numb. All he felt was the release, the escape. All the pain was concentrated in that one area of his body, and then it flowed out of him through the self-inflicted wound. It was control. He was in control. He could localize the pain and minimize it. Some small part of his brain was telling him this was the worst possible way he could be in control, but he ignored it and pushed the blade into his skin for a third time.

The next two weeks, Charlie could sense his friend spiraling out of control. After practices, and after games, he'd come back to the dorm, ice his wrist, study, and go to bed without a word. Their conversations amounted to nothing more than questions and one word answers, and even those were sometimes hard to get out of Adam. His father's messages were getting more personal, more vicious, and Adam had taken to deleting them without even checking to see who they were from first. When he was around the dorm, he refused to pick up the phone and if his father called, he pleaded with Charlie to lie for him.

At night, Charlie was sure Adam was not sleeping intentionally. Several times, he'd woken a little at the sound of someone walking around their room, and once or twice, he'd thought he'd heard noises coming from the other side of the room. Noises. Whimpers. Cries. It bothered him, but the few times he'd gone over to check on his friend, Adam had been dead asleep. 

Michigan's last game was against Ohio State, and it was slotted to be a tough one. Everyone knew the Buckeyes were tough, and by the end of the game, no one would know it better than Adam.

Early in the third period, with Michigan down 2-1, Adam found himself on a breakaway. His lungs were burning with the effort, and his leg muscles were screaming in protest, but he pushed himself into a full sprint anyway. Every movement, any movement, sent waves of pain radiating up his right arm, and this time was no different. As he cut left, then right, it felt as if shards of glass were being pounded into the muscles in his arm. Somehow he got off a weak shot, but that wasn't the worst of it. The check was late, and definitely called for a penalty, but when Adam hit the ice, he knew the damage had been done. 

He went to the trainer after the game, and she ordered him to see the doctor immediately, telling him that she would only front for athletes to a certain degree. He went to the doctor without really thinking, without really caring. He was devoid of emotion, devoid of feeling. The diagnosis was pretty much what he'd expected: bad sprain, 2.5-3 weeks with rest and ice, and he would be okay. The doctor warned him to ease back into training when he removed the gel-cast, and Adam found this absurd. How could he ease back into something like training? There was no middle ground. Either you trained or you didn't. He headed back to the dorm, feeling a little light-headed from the pain-killers, frustrated, and somehow empty inside. When he stepped into the dorm, he vaguely heard Charlie ask him something, but he didn't answer, just went to his bed and lay down facing the wall.

Late that night, Charlie was still restless, unable to sleep. He was worried and anxious. He couldn't remember the last time Adam had actually not answered him. Yeah, they'd traded a lot of one-word answers, but the only time Adam had not talked to him was during freshman year at Eden Hall, and that had only been in response to Charlie's silence.

Throwing back his covers, Charlie swung his legs over the side of his bed and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but unable to sleep. Things were weighing too heavily on his mind. With a shallow sigh, he got up and walked across the room to where Adam was sleeping. He sat there for a moment in the darkness, just thinking, then reached over and turned on the small, bedside lamp. He let his eyes linger on Adam's face for a moment. There were faint tear streaks there, still drying, and Charlie wondered how long Adam had been awake, crying. His attention was then drawn to his friend's wrist, which was lying exposed on the pillow next to his head. 

"Oh…no, Adam…" Gently, Charlie lifted Adam's forearm from the pillow. It was deeply scored with five or six angry red lines, running from the base of the palm to about mid-arm. Lightly, Charlie ran his fingers over the cuts, then pressed his hand against the wounds, wanting nothing more than to soothe the pain, take away the hurt. 

"Why would you do this to yourself?" The words came before he could stop them, in a hushed whisper, voice unsteady. He didn't know, maybe didn't want to know, when this had started. He didn't want to know when his friend had stopped trusting in him. Adam stirred in his sleep, and Charlie released his arm, laying it back on the pillow. Then he pressed his palms against his eyes, feeling a few tears there. What was he supposed to do? 


	5. Facade

The following morning, Adam woke up late, and the first thing he saw was Charlie's face, looking over him. His expression was an anxious, uncertain one, and one that Adam had rarely, if ever, seen there before.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked, sitting up. Charlie bit down on his lower lip and reached for Adam's arm.

"This," he replied, indicating the cuts on his wrist. Adam instinctively jerked his arm back, but Charlie held on.

"It's nothing, Charlie. I'm fine."

"Bullsh*t, Adam. Why would you do this?" He covered the wounds with his hand, as if he couldn't even look at them, and Adam recognized the feeling from his troubled dreams during the night. He pulled his arm away and traced the cuts slowly, somehow finding solace in the dull ache they caused to run through his arm.

"It's a release, Charlie. An escape." Not like he expected him to understand.

"Don't you see what you're doing to yourself?" Charlie asked. He wasn't angry, he was scared, and Adam could sense that right away.

"Charlie, I'll be fine, okay?"

"No, not okay, Adam." Charlie grabbed his arm again.

"Look, okay? Look at what you're doing to yourself. You're hurting yourself." Adam jerked his arm away forcefully.

"You're wrong, Charlie." And with that, he got up and left, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately, Charlie felt the guilt clawing at him inside. He was never good at keeping control of his emotions, especially when it involved someone he cared about. Seeing those cuts on Adam's arm had upset him and scared him, and he hadn't known how to react. Score one for me, he thought bitterly, laying back on his bed, some friend I am.

"Adam?" Oh christ, of all the people to see him in this condition. Adam rubbed furiously at his eyes, trying to stop the tears.

"Adam, what's wrong?" He sensed the presence at his right shoulder, and glanced sideways to see Jade's hand reaching out for his arm. Without even thinking, he pulled away. 

"Charlie and I had an argument," he said, his voice thick with tears.

"About what?" 

"About…about me…" Why was it so hard for him to say that?

"What about you?" Adam swallowed hard and tried to make the words come out, but his voice faltered.

"I…I cut myself," he said in a bare whisper. Jade glanced down and saw Adam's hand pressed tightly over his left wrist. Gently, she grasped his hand and lifted it away. The marks she saw were nothing new; she bore her own scars on her wrists.

"Was he angry?" 

"Yes…well, yes and no…"

"He's scared, Adam. He's your friend, and he doesn't know how to react to this," she explained quietly, "All he's probably heard about people who cut is that they're messed up in the head." Adam let her words sink in for a moment. Now that he thought about it, she was probably right. The tone of Charlie's voice, the expression on his face…they weren't angry, they were scared. And he knew firsthand how Charlie wasn't the best when it came to expressing emotions.

"Look, go back up there and talk to him. If he doesn't listen, I'll talk to him. But I think he'll listen. If he's a good friend, he'll let you get everything off your chest before he starts in." He felt her hand rubbing his upper back in an attempt to console.

"He's always a good friend," Adam murmured, more to himself than to Jade, and the realization that hit him as he said this was like a blindside blow.

When the door opened and Adam stepped into the room, Charlie was immediately on his feet. He reminded himself to stay calm, to hear his friend out, to not jump to any conclusions.

"Charlie, I'm sorry," Adam said quietly. His eyes were slightly swollen and red, and that only served to deepen Charlie's guilt.

"No…it was my fault. I shouldn't have flown off the handle like that." He extended his right hand in a gesture of reconciliation and Adam gladly accepted it. Such a trivial thing, yet carrying so much meaning to the two friends who'd stood the test of time.

"So, can we talk?" Adam asked after they'd shaken hands.

"Yeah, definitely."

The next few days were nothing short of hell for Adam and Charlie. Practices were gradually getting longer in preparation for the NCAA Tournament, and classes were getting more demanding as well. Midterms were not far off, and that meant all-nighters and lots of coffee for everyone. Jade came by their dorm several times, offering pizza or tacos or take-out Chinese, whatever was ordered by people on their floor, and more often than not they accepted it gratefully. With all the hockey and studying, there was very little time left for eating well.

"You know, when an injured player is as tired and sore as his healthy teammates, you gotta wonder," Adam commented during one of their study breaks. It was around 2 in the morning, and he and Charlie were studying up for their American Literature exam. 

"No sh*t. You're doin' all the drills without a stick, and you're sitting for shooting and scrimmage. I don't get it," Charlie replied. Across the room, Adam flexed his wrist a little and winced.

"My dad's going to flip tomorrow night when I'm not out there," he muttered, "He's coming to the game, and I haven't had the courage to tell him." 

"Dang, he really is gonna flip," Charlie agreed. He knew well enough how Adam's dad was, especially when it came to injuries. He remembered well Adam's continuing problems with his wrist throughout high school and his father's resulting reprimands. Basically, what it amounted to was his father was so obsessed with Adam's success in hockey, that he blamed his son for any injuries he picked up along the way. The logic, needless to say, was lost on Charlie. 

"You're answering the phone for the next week, Conway," Adam grumbled good-naturedly, turning back to his homework. Charlie smiled. He'd do whatever, as long as Adam was finally coming around. 


	6. Broken

Michigan 3:1 Wisconsin, 3rd period

Adam sat anxiously on the bench, dressed in his jersey, but no gear and no skates. It felt odd to be sitting, watching his teammates play, and he felt himself slipping a little into a stage of frustration, where he cursed his misfortune with his wrist, and then kicked himself mentally for not having listened to Charlie earlier. His only consolation was that the coach now saw him not only as strong and focused, but tough as well.

Out on the ice, Charlie was having perhaps the game of his life. Everything was flowing well: his passes were finding teammates, his shots were on net, and his anticipation was right on. He'd assisted the second goal, and started the counterattack that had led to the third.

But Division 1 hockey was never all fun and games. Now in the third period, the Wisconsin defense had finally toughened up, and Charlie was finding it harder to make things happen. He took several checks into the boards, and hit the ice hard twice. The ref was letting things slide, now that it was down to the wire, and through the haze of action, Charlie heard Adam yelling at the ref for a call. Two seconds later, he hit the boards hard, and something jerked out of place in his back. Numbness took over for several minutes, replaced then by pressure and then pain. There were only 2 minutes left, but Charlie was sure they were the longest 2 minutes of his life, and when the buzzer sounded, he crouched down on the ice for a minute, trying to ease the pain.

"Hey, you okay?" Adam was standing next to him, offering him a hand up.

"Yeah, my back…" Charlie straightened slowly and felt a jolt of pain run through his lower back. He grimaced and grabbed Adam's shoulder for support.

"Come on. Let's get back to the dorm."

Adam felt his heart leap into his throat when they rounded the corner at the far end of their hall in the dorms. His father was standing outside his dorm, looking thoroughly ticked off. 

"Uh…Dad? You're really not supposed to be in here," he said, slowing his steps. His father turned towards them, and Adam swore he saw a scowl start as his eyes slid over Charlie, then him.

"Mr. Conway, would you excuse us? My son and I need to talk," he said, with obvious forced politeness. Adam hated him for that.

"You can handle this alone?" Charlie asked quietly. Adam nodded.

"Yeah. Go get some ice for your back." Charlie nodded and a few moments later disappeared into their dorm. The instant the door shut, Adam found himself backed up against the wall, his father's hand gripping his collar.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were sitting?" Adam refused to let himself be bullied. 

"It just happened. Besides, it was a good game anyway," he replied with exaggerated casualness. He didn't even see it coming. The slap knocked him sideways, snapping his head around and making his cheek burn painfully.

"How did you let this happen? Right at the start of your Division 1 career and you go and get yourself injured? You think that'll get you anywhere?"

"It wasn't my fault, Dad. I've been having problems since high school." 

"It's all in your head, Adam. There's no room for pain in hockey, especially college." Adam fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd heard this plenty of times—too many times, really—before. 

"Well, maybe I'm just not cut out for college hockey," he muttered. 

"You're damn right you're not. The way you're playing? Huh, you'd be lucky to make juniors. Your skills are absolutely juvenile."

"The hell they are!" This last outburst got him another blow across the face.

"Don't talk to me that way."

"Dad, I'm 19 years old. You can't bend me to your will anymore." Adam knew the instant the words left his mouth that he'd stepped over the line. His father's face darkened, and he drew his hand back so fast that Adam had no time to flinch. The world seemed to explode in front of his face, and the next thing Adam knew, he was on the ground, blood dancing on his tongue and trickling down his chin.

"You're my son, and I expect you to act like it." The rational part of Adam's brain was acting up again, telling him to just back off, not make it any worse than it already was, but he was in no mood to hear that.

"I'll act however I damn well please," he spat angrily. He was rewarded with a vicious kick in the stomach that ripped a howl of pain from his throat. An instant later, door 418 opened and Jade was in the hallway.

"Sir, what's going on here?"

"I'm having a conversation with my son. A private conversation, so if you don't mind-"

"Sir, these dorms are private, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She instilled as much authority as possible into her voice, and Adam thought she sounded very much like an upperclassman who knew what they were talking about. Evidently, that's what it sounded like to his dad too, because he mumbled an apology, then glared down at Adam before turning on his heel and leaving. The instant he disappeared around the corner, Jade knelt at Adam's side to examine the damage. 

"Well, I guess now I see why your dad has such a prominent role in your life," she said after a moment, sitting back on her heels. Adam sat up a little, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach.

"Yeah, he was never one for subtlety," he replied a little bitterly, "Ow…" He wrapped his arm around his stomach, feeling the ache there increase as he tried to sit up straight.

"It's probably a bruise," Jade said, reaching for his arm, "Take it easy." With her help, Adam managed to find his feet and make his way to his dorm. Charlie opened the door for them and he didn't need to guess as to what had taken place. He'd heard the confrontation, but he hadn't wanted to interfere or make things worse, and his back was giving him problems of his own.

Late that night, a spasm of pain woke Charlie from his restless sleep. He lay motionless for a few moments, letting the pain subside. Then he got up and went to the freezer for some ice. It would numb the pain at least for a few hours and allow him some rest. He'd already maxed out on painkillers and they weren't working anyway. As he made his way back to bed, he stopped for a moment beside Adam's bed and glanced at his friend. A part of him told him to let his friend sleep, he'd had a rough night, this wasn't the time to talk, but the other part of him wanted to talk to Adam, wanted to help him sort out whatever crap was running through his head right now. The latter part won over after a brief debate, and Charlie lowered himself onto the bed. He reached out to shake his friend awake, but recoiled when he felt how cold his skin was. Dread crept up his spine as he shook his friend's shoulder insistently.

"Adam, wake up." No response.

"Adam, come on, man. Wake up." Adam groaned in his sleep and stirred slightly. Terrified of what he was going to see, Charlie reached over to the table and turned on the lamp.

"Oh god!" A wave of nausea hit Charlie like a brick and he turned away, praying that this was a bad dream. Only after taking several deep breaths and quelling the urge to throw up could he turn back. Adam's left wrist was cut from elbow to palm, sliced viciously and without hesitation, and the blood was flowing seemingly without end. In the light, Charlie could see Adam's face was pale, and in his right hand, held loosely in his fist was a pocketknife, the edge rimmed with dark red.

Hands trembling, Charlie grabbed the phone and called 911. His voice shook throughout the entire call, and he had to really concentrate to give the operator his dorm number and address. When he hung up, he realized there were tears in his eyes. 

"Adam, come on…wake up, man, wake up…" He went back to his friend and shook him perhaps harder than he would regularly. Adam moaned and managed to open his eyes with great difficulty. Above him, Charlie's face was blurry, and the rest of the room seemed to have disappeared. His eyelids felt heavy and his tongue felt thick. Everything hurt: his arm, his wrist, his muscles. 

"Charlie…" He felt pressure against his arm and glanced down to see Charlie pressing an old t-shirt against his inner forearm. There was blood on his skin, blood on his shirt, blood on his sheets, and memory flooded back to him suddenly in a cold rush.

"Charlie, I…" 

"I can't…I can't believe you did this, Adam." Even his half-unconscious state, Adam could hear the fear in his friend's voice, and the guilt weighed on him like an anvil on his shoulders.

"I just wanted…I just wanted it to end."

"Well it can't end, Adam. It can't, okay? It can't." 

When the medics came, it roused pretty much everyone from their sleep, and the entire dorm was in the halls, trying to figure out what was going on. Jade was the only one who had an inkling of what might have happened, and she quietly made her way down to Charlie and Adam's dorm, where she found the way blocked by one medic. Charlie was standing on the other side, leaning against the wall, looking dazed. 

"Charlie," she exclaimed. He roused slightly and glanced in her direction.

"Let her through," he told the medic. His voice was hoarse. As she approached him, she saw the medics in the dorm, gently lifting Adam onto a stretcher. 

"He didn't…" she murmured, her gaze moving to Charlie, who shook his head sullenly.

"He did. One cut, that's all. Elbow to wrist, clean and straight." His voice shook, his body trembled, and Jade did the only thing that came naturally. She opened her arms to him and he stepped into them, leaning his head against her shoulder. The tears came before he could stop them and she let him cry, let the emotions run because she knew he needed it. It was going to be a long night, and she knew that he would probably cry more than his fair share of tears before it was out.

Midnight found the two freshmen sitting in the waiting room at Mercy Hospital. Several members of the hockey team had shown up, and Charlie somehow drew comfort from their presence. If nothing else, it was a consolation to him to know that the guys he was on the ice with weren't just brainless, heartless goons who had nothing better to do. He drew the most comfort, however, from Jade, who sat next to him in silence, offering her strongest support through her actions, not her words. 

"Do you have classes tomorrow?" Jade asked finally. Charlie nodded slowly.

"I'm not going, though," he answered. Jade nodded.

"Good. I was going to ask you to skip anyway. Adam's going to need you." They lapsed back into silence, and Charlie chanced a glance sideways at Jade.

"How do you know so much about all this?" he asked after a moment, gesturing around the waiting room, "I mean, it seems like you've been through this before."

"I have," she replied without hesitation, "Twice."

"Twice?" Charlie couldn't hide his shock.

"Once it was me, second time it was my brother." She turned to look at him, eyes calm. He didn't quite know what to say. She wasn't upset or distraught by having to explain this information.

"Did…did your brother…did he pull through?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Yes. With a lot of help from his friends," she said, rather pointedly, and Charlie knew instantly what she was getting at.

"Listen, Charlie. Adam will pull through. That's not the issue. The issue is the aftermath. He doesn't need psychiatrists or psychologists, okay? He needs a best friend," she said, "Now…I get the sense you guys may have had some rough spots, and those can't get in the way. He needs you, Charlie. He needs his best friend." He nodded slowly, taking every word to heart. This wasn't a time to abandon his friend, nor to rekindle old grudges. He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly feeling as if he was carrying a 200-pound load on his shoulders. If he had to be strong for Adam, who would be strong for him?

_What about me, then?_

"You got me, Charlie." He realized he'd spoken out loud, and glanced at Jade. She rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

"You got me."


	7. Aftermath

Charlie jerked awake suddenly, and for a second he wasn't sure where he was. It took him a few moments to realize that he was back in his dorm.  
  
"Oh sh*t!" One glance at the clock told him he had already missed one class and he was going to be incredibly late for another. How could he have slept this late? His alarm was automatic, set to go off at the same time every morning.  
  
"Calm down, Charlie." He froze halfway out of bed and his eyes went straight to the door, where Jade was stepping into the room, a bag in her hand.  
  
"I shut off your alarm. You needed the rest." Memory flooded back to Charlie in a cold rush. Adam had still been asleep at 4 in the morning, and Jade had suggested they go back to the dorm. He remembered sitting in her car, watching the almost deserted streets go by, remembered seeing one other car go by, and wondering if they, too, had someone important they had to look after. He suddenly felt a little sick and sat back down on his bed.  
  
"Here. I got you a muffin and some juice. Thought you might be hungry," she said, handing him the bag. Now that she said that, Charlie did notice the empty ache in his stomach.   
  
"Thanks."   
  
"No problem. After you eat, get dressed. The hospital called last night and said that Adam's awake."  
  
Adam lay awake in his bed, staring out the window, feeling as though he were in some sort of dream world, and that nothing around him was entirely real. His world was a haze of color and sound, faces moving in and out of his vision, voices surrounding him, then fading away. His memory was made up of mere flashes-the knife, the blood, Charlie's face above him, Charlie's voice talking to someone on the phone, the pain.   
  
Somewhere in the haze, Adam could make out the guilt. He was still not entirely sure what had possessed him to take a knife to his wrist with so much certainty. Perhaps it was the bruises, which were still prominent on his face, or perhaps it was the feeling of loneliness, the isolation he felt day in and day out. He didn't know what had made him do it, but he knew that he had hurt his friend. Charlie's face above him last night...it was an image that came back to him again and again, over and over, as if to remind him that the cut in his wrist was not just his wound to bear.   
  
A white bandage covered the cut now, concealing the scarred and damaged flesh, but the pain was still infinitely clear to Adam. He wondered just how deeply he'd cut himself. He hadn't yet had the courage to take the bandage off. They had told him they'd stitched it up and that the bandage was only a precaution, but he was afraid of what he would see. He didn't want to see what he could do to himself.  
  
It scared him beyond belief that he could do something like this to himself and not even be aware of it. His mind was blank when it came down to the moments leading up to cutting himself. One moment he was holding the blade in his hand, the next, Charlie was shaking him awake, and there was blood on his sheets.   
  
He thought he'd had control, but he realized now how wrong he was.  
  
"Adam?" Charlie stepped hesitantly into the room, and Adam immediately saw the weariness in his posture. It only served to increase his guilt.  
  
"Hey," he replied quietly. He motioned for his friend to sit down, but Charlie stayed standing, his eyes darting around the room.  
  
"You really scared me, you know...last night," he said, jamming his hands deep in his pockets. Adam felt his stomach fold over itself. He had never heard Charlie's voice take on such a tone.   
  
"I'm sorry." Sorry wasn't good enough, and they both knew it.  
  
"God, Adam...why didn't you talk to me?" Charlie asked. He shoved a hand through his dark hair.  
  
"I didn't..." Adam trailed off, feeling like it was useless to explain.   
  
"Didn't what?" Oh sh*t, now he was ticked off, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Adam knew he deserved this.  
  
"Damn it, Adam, do you know how scared I was? You know how worried I was? All of a sudden you just stopped talking, stopped telling me stuff. Why couldn't you talk to me? God...why couldn't you trust me?" Every word hurt worse and worse, and the pain Adam felt was compounded by the fact that there were tears in Charlie's eyes now.   
  
"Look, Charlie," he muttered finally, voice breaking, "It wasn't that easy. You and I both know things were never the same after high school. I couldn't just open up again, okay?" Charlie roughly brushed the tears away, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.   
  
"Why couldn't you trust me? I wanted to help you," he said, still angry. Adam struggled to keep control of his temper.  
  
"Just like you helped me in high school?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Sh*t, Charlie, you think after you dropped me so fast in high school that you could just come back in and win my trust again? It doesn't work like that. Trust has to be earned." Charlie was stunned into silence, the words hurting him not only because of their apparent malice, but because they were entirely true. Adam sighed heavily.  
  
"Look, Charlie, I didn't mean-"  
  
"No, you're right," Charlie cut him off, "You're right. I shouldn't have expected you to trust me so quickly." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, trying to regain some hint of composure.  
  
It hit Adam at that moment that this whole experience must have really thrown Charlie off balance, because he'd never known his friend to concede so easily, to admit so readily that he'd made a mistake. This was a whole new realm for them, a realm in which fear, anger, guilt and pain took their tolls, a realm in which bridges could either be burned or built in a matter of seconds.  
  
It was perhaps luck that Jade walked in right at that moment.   
  
Adam lay awake that evening, watching TV without really comprehending anything he saw. His arm was aching now, the wound beginning to heal.   
  
He didn't know who he was anymore. Ever since the beginning, he'd been walking on shifting ground, trying to keep his footing as alliances broke and new friendships were formed. And now he'd slipped. Lost his balance. And he wasn't even sure how it happened, what had caused him to break so suddenly. It scared him, seeing the angry, raw, red lines on his wrist, because he couldn't remember the thought process he went through that had caused him to inflict such wounds on himself. It was as if someone else had been in control of him at that point, guiding his hand, blanking out his memory.  
  
They said it was common not to remember anything in the moments just before and after an attempt such as his. Such trauma often caused slight memory loss. But for Adam, the thought that he could do something like this and not even remember it was frightening. What kind of person was he turning into?   
  
He had hurt his friends. He had hurt Charlie. It cut into him so deeply, the guilt, but with the guilt came anger. Why did you turn your back on me, Charlie? Why did you betray my trust just because I made varsity and you didn't? Why was it automatically my fault?  
  
Two days later, Adam was released from the hospital and allowed to go back to his dorm. They'd sent him off with a load of prescriptions for anti-depressants and the number of a local shrink, but he didn't plan on using any of it. The cure for whatever he was feeling wasn't drugs and mental help.  
  
Jade was deep in studying when someone knocked on her dorm door.  
  
"It's unlocked," she called out, setting down her pencil and closing her books. The door opened, and Adam stepped into the room, expression wary and anxious, but pleading for help at the same time.  
  
"Hey," she said, beckoning him in, "How are you?" She didn't mean it in a generic way, she wanted to know more than just how he was.  
  
"Do you really have to ask?" It came out more sharply than he intended, but Jade didn't flinch.   
  
"Wanna talk?" she asked in reply. He nodded. No sense in beating around the bush. He came here to talk to her. They sat down at the table where Jade had been studying, and Adam's eyes immediately cast themselves downward. He didn't know where to start, didn't know how to ask the questions he needed the answers to.  
  
"If you need a place to start, I have one," she said after a moment. This time around, Adam wasn't as surprised by her uncanny sense of his emotions. She took his silence as an affirmation.  
  
"My brother Tanner and I were adopted into the same family; he was three, I was one. And things were pretty much okay until my mother died when I was twelve. My dad started drinking, started hitting us, doing drugs...everything he could to self-destruct and take us down with him." Her left hand went to her right wrist, tracing the scars there.  
  
"I fell into a depression, which led to these," she held up her forearm for him to see, "And then Tanner took it all to court and got a restraining order." Her eyes clouded a little.  
  
"The day after the settlement, our father came storming into the apartment we were living in and beat the hell out my brother. It was like he wanted to kill him or something. So I called the police, and they came and took him away...but for whatever reason, Tanner just lost it after that. He worked two jobs to try and keep our heads above water, and he was trying to finish school. I guess I wasn't really surprised when he cut himself too." Her voice wavered slightly, but Adam had the sense that she was still perfectly in control of her emotions.  
  
"Your brother...he got through it?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah. He pulled through okay."   
  
"And...yourself?" Jade fiddled absentmindedly with her pencil.  
  
"It's tough, Adam. You gotta walk really uneven ground sometimes," she replied, "But...when you find your footing again...you'll be that much stronger." Long silence. Jade didn't seem to find it the least bit uncomfortable.  
  
"I'm scared," he said finally, "I don't how things are gonna work out. I mean...how am I supposed to just get back to life when I know...when I know I can do something like this to myself?" The words came tumbling out faster than he intended, his voice starting to tremble.   
  
"You don't just "get back" to life, Adam. You gotta go slow, you know? I know that's what everyone tells you and you're probably sick of hearing it, but it's true." Another long silence.   
  
"What should I do about Charlie?"   
  
  
  
Charlie stared at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out how it was possible that the reflection he saw was really him. He reached up with his fingers to touch the pale skin under his eyes, slightly swollen from lack of sleep. He hadn't eaten in nearly a day, and his studying was a joke. Every day, it was a chore just to get up and go to class. The way things were going, he'd be lucky to hold on to this semester.   
  
It'd been two and a half weeks since everything blew up in his face. His back was still bothering him, and the silence in the dorm was driving him up the walls. Adam had pretty much closed himself off ever since the incident, and Charlie didn't really know how to approach him. Somewhere, a voice in the back of his mind was telling him that avoiding the issue wasn't going to get them anywhere, and that he was quickly losing a friend, but he couldn't bring himself to listen to that voice.   
  
This was one of those nights that Charlie knew was the perfect opportunity to talk. The hockey team was headed out to East to play Uconn tomorrow in the first round of the NCAA Tournament and though Adam wasn't playing, he was still going along. Both he and Charlie were in the midst of packing that evening, and their attention was not focused on the other. Charlie knew this was a good opportunity to talk to his friend because they could talk without having to look at each other. Bellowing out a deep sigh, he tossed a couple shirts into his bag and went to his dresser.  
  
"I don't blame you for being angry with me," he said in a voice that wasn't entirely his own. Or maybe it was, and he just didn't recognize it. Long silence. When Charlie dared to turn around, he saw Adam staring back at him with something akin to guilt.   
  
"I'm not angry at you, Charlie," he replied, averting his eyes. He busied himself folding and refolding the shirt in his hands.   
  
"It's...it was just...it's just been really hard to talk about, you know?" he continued. Charlie clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. It was still hard to talk about, it still made him want to curl up and cry every time he thought about that night. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.   
  
"Not like it's going to get any easier," he answered. He half-expected Adam to snap at him.  
  
"Yeah...I realize that now." Adam sat down on his bed and let out a sharp breath.   
  
"So sit down. We've got the whole night." 


	8. Claw Your Way Back Up

Michigan breezed easily through the first rounds of the tournament, beating Uconn 4-1, U of Colorado 5-0 and Penn State 3-0. The Frozen Four was set to take place in Minneapolis of all places, and both Charlie and Adam looked forward to being home for a week, though for different reasons. Adam pleaded with the coach to let him play. This was the Frozen Four. This was Minneapolis. He wanted to prove it to himself and to everyone else that he still had it, he was still in the game. The coach relented only after observing Adam in full practice and scrimmage and was satisfied that his wrist was sufficiently healed and his stamina and general mindset were on the right track. 

The evening before the first game found Adam and Charlie holed up in their hotel room watching movies. Over the past few weeks, they'd grown increasingly close. After their late night talk back in their dorm, things had started to open up a little. Adam found it easier and easier to talk to his friend, and Charlie found it easier and easier to listen. The words came more freely, the emotions more clearly, and the trust that they'd lost was starting to come back. It wasn't restored, but it was getting there, and both of them were determined to keep at it. 

"Man, remember the first day you came to play for us?" Charlie asked. He was laying on his stomach on one of the beds in their hotel room, his study materials lying neglected next to him. Adam was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bedframe, elbows resting on his knees. 

"Yeah, when you tried to be the nice guy and Jesse stopped you," he replied, "Yeah, I remember." 

"I feel so bad. We were so mean to you. And we were…like, 10 years old," Charlie said. Adam laughed a little, although Charlie could tell it was slightly forced.

"That was nearly ten years ago, Conway. It's no big deal." 

"You're sure?" Adam slouched down a little further, resting his head against the mattress.

"I guess…maybe it all built up over time. But, like I said…it was ten years ago. Suicide attempts aren't generally connected to ten-year-old events." Charlie felt his entire body stiffen at Adam's casual use of the word 'suicide.'

"What about all the other stuff?" This was getting at the heart of it all, and they both knew it. Adam was fully aware that he had to be careful in his selection of words, lest he inadvertently place blame on anyone.  He'd already hurt Charlie enough through this whole process. There was no need to make him feel it any worse.

"High school was the worst. You know it. I know it. It was tough for both of us. And then we got to college and…well, you know. It didn't get any easier." Adam's words were spoken haltingly, like he was having trouble getting them out. 

"I'm sorry." It was one of the hardest things Charlie ever had to say. To anyone. Anytime. Apologizing had never been his strong point, because it was so hard for him to swallow his pride, to accept defeat, to admit he was wrong. 

"Me too."

"I really don't think you have anything to be apologizing for," Charlie said, resting his chin in his hand. Adam glanced over his shoulder at his friend, and the look on his face was one of guilt.

"I screwed up, Charlie. I caused…a lot of anxiety for you and Jade…and my parents, everyone, you know?"

"Your parents?" Charlie couldn't hide his disgust, "Your dad was the one who instigated this whole thing. All his insults and sh*t…" 

"They're still my parents…" 

"Well, your dad needs to learn a few things about parenting then." Adam bit back a retort. What Charlie was saying was true. His father had pushed him to the edge.

"I was the one who actually…well, carried it out, though," he said, almost to himself. Yes, his father had pushed him, but he was the one who had taken the blade to his wrist. He was the one who had faltered. He had broken. 

"Adam, you let the blame fall on you alone, and you might as well shoot yourself in the foot," Charlie muttered. He reached out and rested his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Come on. We should sleep. We got a game tomorrow."

Colorado College 2:1 Michigan

            Late in the game, Michigan was flying. They were down by one, but they were dominating the ice, getting quality chances on net and putting their hearts into the game. Adam could feel the intensity on the ice and on the bench. The seniors especially had no intention of going out in their final season in the final four. They wanted to win it all, and they were working their asses off to get there. The underclassmen were swept up in it as well, playing perhaps harder than they had all season, because the seniors were out there working hard, and they expected nothing less than for all of them to leave everything on the ice.  

            With less than a minute to go, Charlie managed to draw a cross-checking call, and everyone knew that the resulting faceoff was the do-or-die for Michigan. They had to score on this possession or it was over for them. As their captain moved in to take it, Adam felt the stadium around him melt away. The noise faded away to silence, and the sea of faces dissolved into blackness. All that he was aware of was the game on the ice. His focus was intense now; one mistake would cost them the game and the season. 

            The puck hit the ice, and the ice literally became a blur of sticks and skates as players fought for possession. 

            "Get it to Banks!" Charlie yelled. Adam barely heard him. He could feel the seconds ticking by, and he was sure time was going to run out on them. No one had possession, no one had control, Colorado had only to clear it and the game was over. 

            And then his chance was there.

            The puck spurted free from the scramble, and Adam took off, pushing his muscles to the limit. It was a footrace between him and a Colorado player, and he knew if he lost this race, he would lose his chance as well. Demanding even more from his fatigued muscles, he stretched to pull the puck into his possession. At the same time, he had to twist to avoid the check, and he half-expected to find himself slammed against the boards, but somehow, he had evaded his opponent.  The net was in front of him, the goalie the only thing keeping him from a game-saving goal. His heart was pounding against his chest, and all he could think as he approached the net was, stay calm. Do not get overexcited and botch this. Don't you dare let your concentration slip. He deeked once, twice, and then he saw his chance. The goalie had inadvertently slid too far left, and the net was open on the right. It was like a voice in the back of his head said, "Shoot." And he did. 

            Suddenly the noise in the arena was deafening, the crowd dizzyingly colorful. Adam found himself borne down under a pile of his teammates, Charlie being the first to reach him. They were screaming above the noise, incomprehensibly overjoyed at the prospect of new life in what had looked like their last game of the year. 

This was what he played for, he thought as he and his teammates headed to the locker room before overtime, this was what made it all worth it in the end. 


	9. Epilogue

Michigan would go on to win the NCAA Championship, defeating Colorado on Charlie's assist and taking University of New Hampshire to the mat in a nail-biter that ended 2-1 on a last second shot.

Months later, as Adam was packing up his things for the summer, he reflected on the roundabout way he and Charlie had gone in patching up their friendship. It took a lot of tears, a lot of pain, a lot of hurt and anger, and he still bore the scars of what had nearly been the end of everything in the most literal sense. He smiled, a little sadly to himself, tossing a few shirts into his bag. As he did, he caught sight of the faded, barely visible scars on his wrists. He stared at them, wondering how, in the past year, they had changed so much and whether they matched the change inside.

"Cut it out," said a calm voice. A familiar hand covered his wrists and pushed them back to his sides. Adam looked up into the same pair of eyes he'd been looking into for god knows how many years now, and he saw the difference.

"Don't dwell," Charlie said in the same calm voice, "Doesn't do you any good." He stepped away and moved to sprawl on his own bed. Adam shrugged his shoulders a little, reaching for the pile of neatly folded clothes on his desk.

"When's the shuttle coming?" he asked. Charlie leaned back against the wall.

"Couple hours or so." He and Adam were heading back to Minneapolis for the summer, planning to work as many hours as possible to come up with some money for the coming year. Somehow, Charlie had managed to finish all his packing before Adam, and the room looked unsettlingly bare, with just a few of Adam's things still lying around, waiting to be packed up.

"A lot happened here, you know?" Adam said after a moment, picking up some books from his desk and putting them in a box next to his bed.

"Yeah." Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Just thinking about all of it made him wince.

"Charlie, can I ask you to do something?" Adam turned to face his friend. His face was uncertain.

"Sure." Charlie pushed himself up so he could stand.

"This is stupid, I guess…" Adam shuffled his feet a little, seemingly a little embarrassed.

"Just ask me, Adam."

"Can I give you a hug? I mean…I don't…I just think…" He trailed off, feeling utterly stupid. Before he could take it back, though, he sensed a presence in front of him, and then two arms were around him, holding him tight. His resolve failed him and he hugged his friend back fiercely.

"It's the only way I can think of to thank you," he mumbled, feeling lame and embarrassed and comforted all at the same time. Charlie smiled against his friend's shoulder.

"You're welcome."


End file.

Mighty Ducks, Angst